The Whispering Dead
Gravekeeper Book 1
Darcy Coates
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
The Ravenous Dead
Chapter One
Keira cracked her eyes open. Rain fell through tree branches and pinged off her flushed skin, washing tracks of blood away from her cheek.
Footsteps crunched through leaves somewhere behind her, then faded into background noise. Keira pushed herself to sit up and swallowed a groan as pain radiated through her arm. She touched her shoulder, trying to find the source of the injury, but her jacket covered it.
Okay. So I’m in a forest, and I’m hurt. What happened?
She probed for memories but came up empty. Her name was Keira. She’d woken in a forest of some kind in the early evening, coated in mud, sore, and soaking wet. That was the extent of her knowledge.
Keira raised her hands. They seemed vaguely familiar, almost like an outdated photograph of someone she knew, but did nothing to cut through the fog.
A gunshot boomed from somewhere to her right. It was followed by a beat of silence, then a voice called a command in a language she didn’t know.
Keira stiffened. The voice wasn’t familiar, but its tone caused her pulse to spike and filled her mouth with the bitter tang of fear. Run, her subconscious urged her. Run far and fast and quiet. You’re being hunted.
She was on her feet in a fraction of a second. Her head throbbed and her limbs shook as she staggered to a tree for support. I can’t have been out for long. A few seconds at most. I feel like I just finished running a marathon and my prize was getting hit by a train.
She blinked rain out of her eyes as she tried to get her bearings. She’d woken in a small hollow between two trees. A muddy track ran down one side of the slope, apparently marking the place where she’d fallen.
The gunshot had come from her right. The rain had muffled the sound, which meant it must have been at least fifty meters away. That seemed like a lot of space and, at the same time, hardly any at all.
Keira moved in the opposite direction. Her lungs ached and a coppery film coated her tongue, but her legs seemed to know what to do. They moved quickly and lightly, carrying her over fallen branches and around holes. Her torso bent low, to make her a smaller target. Evidently, evading strangers had entered muscle memory.
The trees thinned ahead, and Keira put extra length into her strides. Despite her exhaustion, her body moved through the forest’s edge and down the weed-choked slope with animalistic agility. It would have been exhilarating if she hadn’t felt so disoriented.
Thick rain poured over her. She was in a thunderstorm, a proper, thorough one, the kind that only came a few times a year and was heavy enough to fill her mouth when she tilted her head back. Good, her mind whispered. It will mask your scent and hide your tracks. They won’t be able to use their dogs.
She tried to hold on to that thought, sensing that the mystery of her existence would become clear if she could only follow it, but then it slid back into her subconscious like a phantom eel.
A foggy clearing stretched ahead of her. Beyond that was a town where distant, rain-blurred lights promised sanctuary.
The gun cracked again. Keira automatically bent lower, moving almost parallel to the ground, and switched her trajectory toward the closest building. It appeared to be some kind of farmstead set apart from the town, and golden light poured from its windows.
The ground leveled out, making Keira work slightly harder for each stride, and the grass grew high around her boots. Fine, chilled mist swirled in the rain.
A dark shape appeared through the fog, and Keira skidded to one side to avoid it. It was tall—almost as tall as she was—and seemed to be made of stone. She wanted to stop and take a closer look, but it felt like a bad time to inspect the scenery.
Lightning cracked through the sky and bathed the world in momentary white. Another shape appeared to her right. She squinted at it as she passed, and a chill ran along her spine. It was a gravestone. She’d stumbled into a cemetery.
More and more stones appeared around her, materializing out of the mist like ships sailing through ethereal waters. The building, which she’d mistaken for a farmstead, resolved itself into a small parsonage. A cross jutted from its steeple, dripping water onto the dark roof below.
The stone house looked at least a century old, but its garden was full of wild shrubs. As she drew along its side, Keira caught strains of music floating through the air.
She pressed herself to the building’s side, where the shadows would disguise her, and looked back. The forest’s edge was barely visible through the mist. Dark figures were slinking out of the tree line. At least a dozen of them.
Keira pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart pounding. It had taken her less than a minute to reach the parsonage; she didn’t think the men following her would be much slower.
“Please let me in.” She whispered the words as she beat her fist against the wooden door. “Please, please, please.”
The music fell silent. Keira pressed close to the stone, trying to hide inside the alcove, as she listened to footsteps move through the building. There was the muted click of a handle turning, and the door swung open to reveal a white-haired, spectacled man.
He carried an embroidered tea towel in one hand, and a threadbare maroon sweater covered gently slanted shoulders. His bushy eyebrows rose, a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment.
“Please, let me in.” She threw a glance over her shoulder. They couldn’t be far away; she likely only had seconds. “Someone’s following me. Just let me hide here until they’re gone, then I’ll leave, I promise.”
“Oh.” He said the word very slowly as his eyes skipped from her drenched form to the trickle of blood running down her face. He blinked, then he nodded, as though he’d deemed her proposal reasonable enough, and stepped aside. “In that case, I suppose you had better come in.”
She slipped through the doorway and pressed close to the wall. Her heart was thundering and her ears ringing. She could only hope she’d been fast enough that the strangers hadn’t seen her.
The entryway was warm and smelled like spices, and the jumble of mismatched furniture clustered against its walls felt homey. The pastor closed the door, then put his back to it, watching Keira with faint bemusement. “What happened, child? Were you attacked?”
Keira licked rainwater off her lips. A part of her wanted to stay silent. She only needed to hide in the clergyman’s house until the strangers lost her trail, and caution suggested she reveal as little about herself as possible.
On the other hand, she owed the pastor for his hospitality. The least she could do was answer his question. And maybe she’d unburden her own mind a little in the process.
“My name’s Keira. I’m being hunted. That’s all I can remember.” She glanced along the hallway. Lamps were spaced around the old, scratched tables, their bulbs creating a mesh of conflicting light sources. Outside,
thunder crackled. “Sorry, do you mind me asking…where am I?”
“Blighty Parish, two kilometers from the eponymous Blighty.” He reached out to take her arm, but Keira moved away from the touch. The pastor didn’t comment as he tactfully redirected the motion into a gesture toward an open door to their right. “Come and sit by the fire. You must be freezing.”
She never had the chance to respond. The door boomed, shuddering as a heavy fist beat at its exterior. Something like electricity rushed through Keira, setting her brain buzzing and turning her fingers numb. Hide, her mind whispered. Hide, or you won’t be the only one to suffer.
The pastor glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “Is that them?”
Keira could only nod.
The pastor’s lips pursed. He crossed to a large, heavy wood wardrobe and opened the door. In here, he mouthed, beckoning to her.
Keira gratefully slipped among the assortment of patched coats, umbrellas, and rain boots. The fist returned to the door, louder, and the pastor closed the wardrobe on her.
“I’m coming, don’t worry.” His voice had been steady when he’d spoken to her, but now it took on a warbling, feeble note as he called out to his new visitors. “These old bones don’t move as fast as they used to, bless me.”
She listened to him approach the front door, each step an exaggerated shuffle. The door groaned as he opened it and the sound of drumming rain intensified. With it came a new, unpleasantly raw noise. Heavy breathing, Keira thought. They’ve been running and are trying not to show it.
“Good evening.”
The voice sent a spasm of repulsion through Keira’s stomach. The speaker was trying to sound respectful, but she could almost taste the frustration concealed in it. “I’m looking for my friend. A young woman, thin, with light-brown hair and wearing dark clothes. Have you seen her?”
“Well, now…” The pastor hesitated, and Keira tasted fear. “I saw a young woman of that description in town earlier this week. You’re testing my memory, bless you, but I think she was—”
“No, tonight.” The voice became harsh as it cut across the pastor’s ramble, and the stranger cleared his throat before continuing in a calmer tone. “We became separated less than an hour ago.” A pause, then he added, “We had a small disagreement. She might have asked you to keep her presence a secret. But the sooner we can be reunited, the sooner I can help her.”
“Ah, forgive me, child. I haven’t seen anyone between coming home this afternoon and opening my door a moment ago.”
Thank you, Keira thought, clenching her fists to keep the fingers from shaking.
“Are you certain?” A hint of warning was introduced to the words. “It’s very important that I find her.”
“Bless you. Lying is a sin. I hope you don’t think I’d endanger my immortal soul over something so trivial.”
There was a silence that Keira struggled to interpret. She held her shoulders pressed tightly against the wardrobe’s back, fighting to keep still and not betray her presence. The rain seemed deafening. Keira had the awful sense that the stranger wasn’t going to be turned away so easily.
“On that subject,” the pastor’s voice took on tones of rapture, “I can’t help but feel that some greater purpose has led you to my home on this black night. Would you come in for a few moments? We could discuss your soul’s blessed destination over a nice cup of tea.”
The stranger didn’t bother trying to smother a disgusted grunt. Heavy feet crunched over the gravel path as he backed away. “Perhaps another time. I need to keep looking for my friend.”
“Safe journey, child,” the pastor called. A moment later, the front door groaned closed, and Keira dared to breathe again.
“Well. What fun.” The feeble tone dropped from the pastor’s voice as he opened the wardrobe, making Keira blink against the sudden light. “Whether it’s solicitors, tax men, or nosy relatives, I’ve never had that line fail on me. Come on, Keira, you’re getting water all over my shoes.”
Chapter Two
“Yes, sit there, please,” the pastor said. “I don’t like that one, so I won’t mind if it gets water stained.”
Keira obediently sank into the paisley armchair. The parsonage’s cozy sitting room was filled with an odd assortment of furniture, both modern and antique. A large fire crackled in the grate, radiating warmth through her soaked jeans and T-shirt, reducing some of her chills. The pastor took Keira’s jacket, hung it next to the hearth to dry, then turned to a door on the other side of the room. “My name’s John Adage, but I’m generally called just Adage. I think I have a first aid kit somewhere. Sit still a moment.”
“Thank you,” Keira called after his retreating back. She’d already said it when he let her out of the wardrobe, but once didn’t seem like enough. “And, um, sorry for making you lie.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” The clatter of plates told Keira her rescuer was in the kitchen. “Even ignoring the fact that betrayal would be a far greater sin, I never actually said anything untruthful, only that I hadn’t seen anyone between coming home and opening the door.”
Adage appeared in the doorway, a steaming bowl in one hand and a small white box in the other. He put the bowl into Keira’s hands, and she discovered the source of the tasty spice smell that permeated the house. It was some kind of stew, and Keira realized she was ravenous. She scooped a spoonful into her mouth, swallowed as quickly as the hot liquid would allow, and went back for more.
“You’re lucky you came tonight.” Adage pulled a wooden chair up beside her and opened the white box. “I usually only cook stew once a week. If you’d come yesterday, I would have been serving you TV dinners instead.”
Keira froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to take your food—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pushed his glasses farther up his nose as he squinted at the instructions on the back of a bottle of antiseptic. “My job description includes feeding the poor, but there’s hardly anyone poor enough in this town to feed. You’ll do in a pinch.”
Keira couldn’t stop her laughter. She felt ludicrous. How the pastor could be so complacently cheerful was beyond her.
“Here we go.” He shook a cotton ball out of its bag and poured some of the clear liquid onto it. “This will probably hurt. Medical things always do, in my experience. That man wasn’t telling the truth, was he?”
Keira tried not to flinch as he pressed the cotton ball to her skin just below her hairline. “No. I don’t think so anyway. I don’t remember anything.”
“Amnesia?”
“I suppose so.”
“Hmm.” He dabbed a few times, then threw the cotton ball into the fire and began hunting for bandages. “Well, I’ve never met you before, which means you’re not from Blighty. It’s a tiny town, too small to avoid an acquaintance with anyone, which can sometimes be as much a curse as a blessing. You could be from Broadmeadow. It’s a twenty-minute drive away.”
Keira shrugged. “The name doesn’t ring any bells.”
Adage frowned as he began unraveling a roll of bandages. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, I’m afraid. Perhaps I should call the doctor.”
“No, you’re doing great.” The words tumbled out of her unbidden. The impulsive, reflexive part of her was certain she wanted to avoid hospitals and anything associated with them. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Just put a bandage on it, and it’ll be fine.”
“Mm.” Adage didn’t sound convinced, but he leaned forward to wrap the cloth around her head. “I can’t say I’m disappointed. Dr. Kelsey is a bit of a… Well, we’re told to love our enemies, in which case I can safely say that I love no one more than Dr. Kelsey.” He finished wrapping the bandage like a bandanna. “How does that feel?”
“It’s great.” It was growing soggy from her wet hair and felt loose, but Keira wasn’t about to complain.
“Then I suppose we’d better figure out what we’re going to do with you.” Adage closed the first aid kit a
nd nudged the bowl in Keira’s hands, encouraging her to continue eating. “Do you have any memories at all? A surname or a friend’s name, perhaps?”
Keira probed her mind. She made it as far back as waking up in the clearing, but everything beyond that was blank. C’mon, brain. You have one job. “Sorry.”
He shrugged as though the situation were no more complicated than choosing what to order for dinner. “In that case, you can spend the night here if you promise not to steal anything or murder me in my sleep. We’ll make you up a bed on one of the couches. Tomorrow, if you still can’t remember, I’ll ask around town.”
Keira looked from the bowl of stew at the warm fire, then at the pastor. Simple thanks seemed wholly inadequate in return for the unquestioning generosity he’d shown her, but it was all she had to offer. “Thank you so much.”
He waved away the gratitude as he crossed the room. “Really, tonight has become quite thrilling. It’s a nice change from the usual pace. Let me have a look for some spare blankets.”
Thunder cracked outside. The night was dark, but faint lights from the town created a mosaic on the wet glass. Anxiety tightened in her chest.
She had no actual memories of her life, but her subconscious kept feeding her tiny clues. Rain is good, it said. It will wash away your footprints. Being found is bad; you don’t want to know what those men are capable of.
She turned back to the pastor, who was hunting through a wardrobe and muttering as dead moths fell out from between the blankets. If they find me here, they’ll kill him.
Her appetite vanished and she dropped the spoon back into the bowl. Adage had shown her more kindness than she could have hoped for; she would never forgive herself if he were hurt—or worse—because of it. “Uh, do you have somewhere else I could stay? A barn or something a bit more remote?”
The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1 Page 1
